A Few Weeks Later
My posture is semi-hunched in, as a protective stance against the pain I'm in. It's another sunnyy Florida day and I'm on my way to yet another doctor's appointment. I hold back my tears of desperation and hope that this time, the visit is different. That perhaps some answers or even more testing will come of it.
Minutes later, full of hope, I slowly open the doctor's office door. The receptionist as usual, is pleasant and full of sympathetic smiles. I smile back, certain it looks more like a grimace.
As they place me in the room, I start typing up my symptoms so that I don't forget anything. Bladder pain. Back pain. Frequent urination. Abdominal pain. Nausea. Random pain, flares, and various parts of my body that I forgot I even have. Urethra spasms. Dizziness. Numbness and tingling in hands and feet. Stomach swelling that resembled an expectant mother.
Hmmm. what am I missing?
Oh yeah. Memory loss. Brain fog that resembles brain mud.
What else?
Oh, shortness of breath. Hives. Life altering fatigue.
As I'm trying to remember the others, my doctor steps into the room. She's a pretty blonde woman with beautiful wrinkles around her eyes. I stare at them for a moment, admiration appreciating them.
That's so smany smiles. How beautiful.
"Still the same thing as last time she asked for a pen and hand?"
Her face is filled with sympathy. Probably because I look like absolute shit.
I don't hesitate to tell her it's gotten worse since my last visit, because it has. I immediately begin listing off my symptoms one by one. She nods along as she makes notes in her chart.
At the end, she looks up from her clipboard and finally says, "Well your urine sample came back negative for an infection but we're going to put you on another round of antibiotics in case it's just not showing up on the test."
I start to shake my head. The antibiotics aren't doing a damn thing except making me even more sick. I'm sure of it. But only one of us in the room is a doctor, so I don't point this out to her. It feels rude and arrogant to do so, so I hold in my judgement even though, none of this seems to make sense. There's something wrong with me. I'm sure of it.
She tucks the script in my chart and tells me to come back if it continues.
For what? you've been zero help.
I don't say this. Again, it feels rude, although factual.
I leave her office, with my hope filled mindset deflated.
They should just put me to sleep. It would be far more humane than whatever this is.